


Different Kinds of Love

by LittleKnownArtist



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Married Couple, Sexual Content, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Wedding Fluff, aroace character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleKnownArtist/pseuds/LittleKnownArtist
Summary: Charlie was in love with Alastor. He didn't return the same feeling.When the time comes for her to marry, he was a lot better than her other options. He didn't care for romance. He was a gentleman, but only wanted the title and influence in marrying her. She just wants him to love her the way she loves him.
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 256





	Different Kinds of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Miiiinor dubcon because Charlie gets a little handsy.
> 
> I spend a lot of time trying to wrap my head around romantic vs platonic love. Especially without sexual desire. I'm female so growing up I was physically/emotionally very close to my friends, hugging, cheek kissing, going out to dinner with, dancing with, holding hands, laying on top of while reading a book, etc. Without sex, what's the difference between what I did with my friends vs what asexual people do with their partners? Why is there so much focus on the want for romance? I mean same, but????

Charlie was in love with Alastor. She hated that fact so much, she couldn't stand it. Especially when she knew her affections weren't returned. Not exactly.

Alastor loved Charlie, but it wasn't remotely in the same way Charlie loved him. So the day when she matched with him the sake of a political marriage, and he accepted, her stomach twisted itself into confused knots. She asked herself again and again why he would accept the offer when he very clearly only felt a the love that forms between friends. She knew why. She knew why but to even think it even made her question his friendship.

"He's only marrying me for the title," Charlie said as she stood still for her mother's fashion-wisened gaze. Prince of Hell. Second in line to inherit the throne, and partner to its heiress. Lilith lifted her gaze, swiping her finger through a catalog and watching the neckline of Charlie's dress shift.

"I know..." she studied her daughter's face. "You can always back out, Charlotte."

Charlie's hands twisted in her delicate lace sleeves. She shook her head.

"Mom, I...I want to marry him, as stupid as this all sounds. Just. Knowing he doesn't love me, it feels...well, I..."

"But he adores you. He wouldn't call you up just to talk so often if he didn't." Al wasn't terribly fond of the telephone, so when he called her from the Hotel's, or his radio station's just to talk, just to tell her jokes and hear her laugh, it made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. Charlie sighed. It felt so nice being appreciated. It felt nice that he wanted to be around her. It wasn't romace, but it was...nice...

And he was a lot better than her other options. The only prince, princess, or overlords that would even entertain the idea of marrying Charlie, with all her quirks, turned out to be complete and utter assholes. Or sexists. And her mother specifically vetted those out. Turns out being the heir to the throne meant nothing if the majority of Hell thought you were weird.

"Hm...seems like you don't have the bust for this neckline," Lilith said, bringing the topic back to Charlie's wedding dress. Charlie looked down. Her mother was absolutely right, the neckline cut her wrong, making her figure look more like a little boy's than a woman about to be wed. Her mother dug through more of the fashion magazines, flipping to another page and with another swish of her finger, shifting the look of Charlie's wedding dress.

* * *

Charlie could live with this. Her father looked genuinely happy as he stole her away for a dance to the upbeat music. He had even taken the courtesy of wearing red instead of white so he didn't outshine his daughter. It had been so long since she'd danced with him. She felt giddy, and it wasn't just the champagne. She felt like a little girl again, back all those centuries ago. In her heels, she stood taller than her dad, but he still twirled her and spun around as the steps to the dance called for. He asked if she was having fun and she grinned at him.

"Because I don't remember inviting the Von Eldriches, I could set them ablaze for some nice mood lighting. Does that sound fun? I could turn _him_ inside out for a bit, hm?" He raised one hand, prepared to snap and have it done at his daughter's request.

"Daddy!" Charlie laughed, then paused to consider. She didn't want gore at her wedding, she decided.

"He'll just have to suffer with the idea of me marrying one of the sinners he so loathed," she said.

"We really do need to sit down and discuss your definition of torture and suffering, little one." He kissed her forehead and sent her back to her waiting groom as the song changed. Alastor's smile was less eerie than usual, and he laughed when Charlie winked at him. She knew he'd been listening in on what her father had said, his ears crooked forward.

The wedding really was one big party. It was especially evident when Alastor got uncharacteristically lost on their way out of the party. He wasn't quite swaying, but they had both indulged enough to have them unsteady on their feet. Charlie tightened her grip on his elbow and drug him back the other way. This had been her home for centuries, and she had navigated it blind on several occasions. They were both laughing when they finally made it into Charlie's--their bedroom. She changed her grip on his hand, lacing their fingers together. She gripped a lapel of his tuxedo. Alastor's gaze turned back. His smile present, but his eyes suspicious. Charlie ignored it to stand on tiptoe and press her lips against his. She giggled as she pulled away, but Alastor didn't laugh with her.

"My dear, wasn't there enough of that at the ceremony? We're off the stage, there's--"

"Al," she huffed, before yanking him back down to her lips. She saw him roll his eyes before she closed hers, but this time, she felt her groom kissing her back. Her hands raised around his back, and his settled chastely on her waist, even as her tongue began to toy with the sharpened points of his teeth. She moaned embarrassingly loudly when his tounge slid against her own. One of her hands fell away from his back to push her straps from her shoulders. The fabric of her bodice pooled at her waist as she gripped one of the hands at her waist sliding it up to settle against her breast.

Alastor grunted and suddenly yanked his face away from his bride's. Charlie's eyes shot open, staring into his, questioningly. He wasn't meeting her gaze. He focused on the hand she held against the softness of her chest.

"Ah, I see now. Darling, you're wanting to consummate the marriage? Seems a fair bit old-fashioned, but I suppose I could give it a go." His hand shifted against her bared skin.

Charlie's reality came back to her past the haze of champagne and partying. Alastor didn't love her like she did him. Alastor wasn't attracted to her, not physically. Not like she was to him. While his voice, his broad shoulders, his height and charm all did things to send tingles down her spine and heat into her belly, nothing about her has the same effect on Alastor. This marriage was a sham.

"Aw, where's that smile, love?" He tipped her chin up and she flushed brightly, bringing her arms up to cover her chest as if she were suddenly a blushing virgin bride. Her eyes pointedly looked anywhere but Alastor, and the clawed hand on her waist began to dig into her skin.

"You don't...like this sort of thing..." she mumbled.

"Hmm..." he hummed after a moment, "if I recall, it feels enjoyable, and you _do_ enjoy it greatly. Even with my personal qualms..." his voice lowered, the static quieting, "I'll still see to it that I take care of you."

He lifted her under the arms to bring her flush against his body. His attention turned to her neck, kissing and biting her as he laid them on her--their bed. Charlie wanted to cry. She knew this was him playing a part, just another performance. It wasn't real. Not like it was to her.

But...the sensations of his body, his hands and lips and dangerous teeth on her skin; it felt real enough. So she swallowed whatever she could of her pride and allowed herself to just feel. Feel him. Feel her own hands pushing his jacket off, tearing open his waistcoat and shirt. Feel his gaze on her as he sat up to pull her dress down her legs. He inspected her panties, tracing along the peach lace for a moment. Then he was tearing them off with his claws. Charlie shivered with the hot kisses along her belly until his face was between her legs and her body was too hot to think. He had her worked up so quickly, she would have been embarrassed by how quickly she'd cum if not for how good it felt. His belt was unbuckled, his trousers were cast aside and he was giving it to her hard and fast, just how she urged him to.

It felt good. It felt so good. Even his harsh bites which bled and bruised added to the intensity of the physical sensations. She held him against her, inside her, even as they caught their breaths and their mixed fluids dribbled onto the bedding. His back was damp with sweat and his dead heart was hammering against her palm and it felt so good.

The next thing she knew, her eyes were fluttering open to the red morning light of Hell peeking through a crack in the curtains. She laid on her belly a while longer, pressing her face into the sheets which smelled so much of her new husband. She wondered, vaguely, where he was but was too busy basking in the smell and the residual soreness of her shoulder and belly. She was fully healed by now, but she could still feel where he'd bitten and where he'd moved inside her.

She heard water turn on and lifted her head. She turned towards the adjoining bathroom to see a leg and elbow through the door, clad in the striped pajamas Alastor always wore. Curious, she slipped out of bed and walked towards him, wondering what he was doing, standing in front of the mirror like that. As she came around the bed she caught sight of him in the mirror, face lathered and drawing a razor over his jaw. In Hell, some still had to shave.

"Good morning my--" Alastor started as he caught sight of Charlie in the mirror, eyes widening upon realization that the princess was still completely nude, "dear?" He nearly choked on the last syllable, clearing his throat and tipping his head back to shave along his neck as well as removing his gaze from his wife's form. Charlie flushed, but a smirk graced her lips as she detoured towards her closet to find clothes.

* * *

Alastor was entirely pleasant to her, other than the cruel jokes he was known for. Pleasant but...he did play the role of husband well, but he always had been overly affectionate with just about everyone, especially Charlie. Yet, Charlie could tell that what she felt about the situation and what he felt were vastly different in nature. So much that she secluded herself in a bathroom sometimes to wipe away tears that stubbornly spilled over despite her best efforts. What was so different between romance and friendship anyways? She didn't understand why her heart hurt so much when he was so often beside her, sweeping her up into song and dance, cracking jokes just to hear her laugh, engaging in banter with her. She had so much fun with him, but it wasn't enough. Why wasn't it enough? It had to be enough. Was she selfish to want more? What even was the "more" that she wanted anyway? She didn't know.

Alastor slept next to her most nights, but he usually managed to wriggle away from her goodnight kisses. One night she'd had enough of it. She'd attacked him. She shoved him down and ripped open his pajamas, uncaring of the buttons which went flying across the room. If she couldn't get love out of him, she'd settle for sex. Sex felt like love, didn't it?

"Charlotte."

His voice snapped her out of her frustration. He rarely used her full name. His sneer was wide and his brows were knit. He was angry. He struggled against the hands holding his wrists for a moment before snapping his fingers. A shadowy tendril snaked about her waist and another two around her wrists to yank Charlie off of her husband enough so he could sit up. He looked at his ruined pajama top before casting it aside.

"There's no need to make such an ugly face. It's unbecoming of you." His voice was crackling with static. Tears began to blur her vision.

"I understand that half your lineage is a succubus, but I thought they at least had the decency to acquire _consent_ before ravishing a partner."

"What?" Her demonic heritage had nothing to do...consent?

Oh.

Oh no.

She wouldn't have, would she? She definitely wouldn't have _forced_ Alastor if he never gave his consent, right? No. No, she wouldn't have done that, right?

Hot tears began to roll down her pink cheeks.

"Hush, now." He stroked away her tears with a finger, bringing it to his mouth to lick away the salt.

"It is a part of the bargain I've been neglecting, isn't it? We'll just have to see if there's some sort of compromise we can come to."

He held her chin and kissed her as deeply as he had on their wedding night. Charlie needed a moment to sniffle and he took that time to kiss her cheeks, lapping away the tears that fell. Tit for tat, his dark tentacles shredded her clothes as she had his shirt before rolling them over. His hands remained touching only those areas where he also felt comfortable touching in public, but his tentacles slid up her legs and over her chest while he pressed kisses against her throat. He wouldn't let her touch him, however. The two tendrils around her wrists remained there.

Charlie's emotions were all over the place, but Alastor was showing her intimate affection again, wasn't he? His body was off to the side of hers, hands stroking her arms, kisses along her jaw, but the tendrils he controlled were massaging her everywhere that wasn't chaste. They were spreading her legs, beginning to stroke between them and building up the whirring pleasure within her.

"Alastor, I'm sor..." she sniffled.

"I've got you, love." His voice was low and heady and that alone made Charlie's back arch.

Sex felt like love, didn't it?

* * *

That became the agreement whenever Charlie began to feel the longing sensations in her heart. Maybe with less tears, but the same thing nonetheless. She loved when his hands would tangle in her hair, massage her scalp. She also grew to enjoy the feeling of the tentacles on her, within her, drawing every ounce of energy and pleasure she had within her body with multiple orgasms. Sometimes there were tears, but because she was overwhelmed, not because her heart was hurt.

Alastor began to venture further as well. He'd never injure her in a way that would scare her, as he knew full well he'd seal his fate with the devil if he had, but he liked to watch her squirm from the slices he put in her skin. Her blood did something for him, though he couldn't say what. It may have been the angelic component in it which created a strange sort of high for him in tasting it. In drawing it.

Even though he could tell she wanted something more from him, she seemed content enough, and so he had plenty of time to increase his influence without worrying about his wife causing him any grief. He truly hated seeing her sad, something she shared with only a handful of others since he had come into existence.

Many years passed like this, with this amicable agreement. Until he was laying with his head in her lap, a hundred pages into a book, with Charlie's hand idly petting his hair when she shared with him her desire for a child. He was immediately against it. He didn't like how children were created. He didn't think they could even conceive a child. He was a sinner. Sinners couldn't reproduce in Hell. Why go through the trouble of engaging in those...acts...if there's no purpose for it. A sinner couldn't become a father.

They can, but only if they sired a child within a woman of succubus lineage. It was news to him.

No, he told Charlie. He didn't like children. He didn't like the idea. She was already an heir to a throne which would never open up for her, what did Hell need additional members of Lucifer's line for? He thought it was ludicrous. Until he really thought about it. He, the Radio Demon, the most influential sinner in Hell. Her, whether she cared or not was borne of a Seraph and Hell's first sinner, first succubus, and the unmatched rulers of Hell for eons. He'd heard Lucifer tell him many times, the daughter was more powerful than the father, if only she didn't waste so much effort on denying it and suppressing her nature. Charlie was truly greater than the sum of her parts.

A child was only small and weak for some short years. A child between himself and his wife had the opportunity to be stronger still. He would make sure whatever had happened to make Charlie act as if she were weak never happened to a child of his. He would raise them to appreciate their power, their influence, and hold their loyalty to him.

And so, he agreed to try to give Charlie a child. He pushed his intolerance for touch aside and dismissed the shadow tendrils to lay with his wife properly. He repeated this as often as possible, until at last, Charlie began to change. The entire course of her pregnancy, she found her horns protruding from her skull, her gaze in a constant red and her fangs matched her mate's. Alastor was pleased with these changes. He could feel an exuberant anticipation for what this could mean for their child. He had so many plans for them.

All his grandious plans of fire and screaming went out the window the moment he laid eyes on that little boy. Intelligent red eyes stared back at him, and Alastor felt a warmth bloom in his heart like he'd never experienced before. Love. A love like he'd held for his mother, but different. Paternal love. Is this what Lucifer felt towards Charlie? Is this why he'd been so soft towards her in her developing years? A tiny pair of red eyes encircled with yellow sclera and thick eyelashes held all of his attention for what could have been forever or a single moment until a hand came near him, and a protective urge overcame him with a feral growl until he saw it was only his wife.

She laid a hand on the infant's head, stroking back his soft blond hair. Alastor's eyes met Charlie's, and she grinned at him. Charlie. His Charlie. He rarely felt possessive of her, but he did right now. His friend, his wife, the mother of this--this child he held. His child.

He kissed her, unprompted, and she squeaked in surprise. She blinked at him as he pulled away. Charlie. Charlie. He glanced back down to his son before raising his eyes back to their mother. He looked every bit like his mother, except his skin may be a greyish color. Paler than Alastor's own, but deeper than the crane white shared between his mother and grandfather. It was too early to be sure. He looked so much like her, and Alastor couldn't help feeling like something within his soul shifted at the realization that whether he felt a certain way about Charlie, they shared something deeper than all that now. They were a family. They had been all along, but now Alastor held _proof_ of their bond.

He loved his family.

**Author's Note:**

> I just. Wanted to explore an aroace character. He still loves Charlie, but as a good friend.
> 
> By the end he loves her as the mother of his son and probably a squish? I'm ace but I don't *think* I'm aromantic? Love comes in many forms and it's all confusing.


End file.
